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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24716425">Self Care</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askellie/pseuds/Askellie'>Askellie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Inappropriate use of gaster blasters, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sansturbation, sex by proxy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:48:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,859</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24716425</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askellie/pseuds/Askellie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans teaches Red how to creatively repurpose your Gaster Blasters as sex aids. </p><p>Red teaches Sans that masturbation is nice, but having a helping hand is better.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kustard, Sans/Gaster Blasters, Sans/Sans (Undertale)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>199</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Self Care</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wholly blame the amazing art by @weirdwormy on Twitter. I couldn't help the urge to see Sans getting absolutely railed by his blasters, and Red just kind of butted his way in to help.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There’s a lightshow of magic spilling out from under Sans’s bedroom door. Not the usual kaleidoscope of colors that says he’s getting ready to prank someone across time and space, just strong blue and gold hues swirling tantalisingly across the carpet and over Red’s shoes. Makes sense; Papyrus is out for the night at Undyne’s for a besties’ sleepover, which was why Red thought to come on over and try his luck. Looks like Sans got the party started without him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t bother trying the door -- it’ll be locked, because Sans is a petty bastard like that, pretending like Red isn’t welcome when they both know nothing short of a null-field barrier will keep him out. Sans isn’t so lazy that he couldn’t borrow one from the lab if he really wanted to, so Red continues to take its absence as an invitation. One quick hop through the void and he’s standing in the corner of Sans’s room, a lascivious quip on his tongue that never makes it to air because there’s a pair of huge, hulking strangers bending over Sans’s mattress that he was utterly unprepared for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck-!?” He startles, taking a step back right into the goddamn wall. A minefield of bones springs up from the floor, forming a defensive landscape between him and the potential threat. Neither stranger reacts, and Sans only flicks him an unimpressed look, languidly easing off the cock he’s been sucking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude. Chill,” Sans says, nonplussed, like he’s not at all phased by the sudden explosion of attacks scattered across his bedroom or the fact that he’s boxed in on both sides by a pair of monsters twice his size. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck!?” Red repeats with extra emphasis, because he’s not an idiot. He always checks before shortcutting blindly into a new space and Sans’s magic was the only signature radiating out of the room. For a moment he second guesses himself, wondering if all the good food and lack of murderous neighbours has finally made him go soft in this universe, but nope. The salty-sweet musk in the air is distinctly and entirely Sans’s, tempered with only a faint, unusual undertone of something acrid, like burning ozone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even that smell is familiar. Red breathes it in every time he takes a shortcut. With narrowed eyes, he squints hard at Sans’s unexpected companions, and while the oily shape of their bodies aren’t familiar to him the shape of their skulls definitely are. He gapes, at a loss for words for a moment before they spill out of him in a furious rush. “Are those your fucking blasters?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sans gives him a look that eloquently asks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>have you always been this much of an idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span>? It’s a pretty ballsy look for someone wearing only a hoodie and t-shirt with no pants. His bare pussy casts a warm, cyan light on the creature behind him, highlighting the slick, naked planes of its unexpectedly sculpted body. The head is all bone, but from the neck down it seems to be made of something dark and dense that’s solid enough to hold shape but ripples and oozes at the surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never figured you for the pearl-clutching type,” Sans retorts, wiping away a trail of saliva and something dark and thick as ink from his chin. “Don’t tell me you never used them like this before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says it with sarcasm, but Red’s silence stretches for a long, awkward moment. Sans blinks back at him, mirroring Red’s disbelief. “Wait, really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s unbelievable that Red feels like he’s the one getting flustered when Sans is the one on his hands and knees with come on his face. He holds his attack pattern for just a moment longer to be absolutely sure he won’t have to shank a bitch -- it’s doing unexpected things to his nerves, seeing how small Sans looks sandwiched between his monstrous constructs -- but there’s nothing threatening radiating from them despite how imposing they look. Grudgingly, Red lets his magic dissipate, shoving his still-twitching fingers deep into his jacket pockets. “They’re called Gaster </span>
  <em>
    <span>Blasters</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sansy, not Gaster Sex Toys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh. So you’ve never messed around with your bone attacks either, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Course I have. That’s totally different.” Like any self-respecting skeleton wouldn’t explore those possibilities. Bones could be made to just the right length and thickness, and the flared knots on the end could make for an amazing sensation if you got them in at the right angle. Naturally Red had experimented until he found the best combinations...for science reasons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sans arches his browbones skeptically at Red. “How exactly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Less effort, for one.” When Sans gives an unconvinced scoff, Red testily adds, “Once you’ve used to them to murder a few people, calling them out is a bit of a mood </span>
  <em>
    <span>killer</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a little flare of distaste in Sans’s eyes at the casual mention of Red’s LOVE, quickly buried beneath a self-effacing smirk. There’s no trace of sympathy or pity, which is one of the reasons Red likes Sans. “Heh. Guess that would kinda </span>
  <em>
    <span>snuff</span>
  </em>
  <span> any urges to have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>blast</span>
  </em>
  <span> with them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice,” Red concedes, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. It eases the sting to his ego that in this specific instance, Sans actually has one up on him in the creativity of his sexploits. He’d be more annoyed if he wasn’t even more burningly curious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, Sans must have spent considerable time figuring out how to enhance the basic shape of the blasters to give them fully articulated bodies. The sheer size of them is impressive; If they weren’t hunched over Sans’s mattress, Red thinks the crests of their skulls would just about touch the ceiling. The fact that their massive hands can easily hold Sans’s smaller body up and in place for easy access must be especially convenient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what’s the special occasion?” Red asks. “You wanted to put on a good show for me tonight, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wish,” Sans scoffs, and even though he’s pointedly not looking in Red’s direction there’s a high, pretty blush on his cheekbones. “This is for me, not for you. Sometimes a guy just likes to spend a little quality time with his constructs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red grins wolfishly. Seems like an awful lot of effort to go to for a little masturbation. If Sans really wasn’t picky about getting dicked down he could have gone and picked up someone at Grillby’s, but nope, here he is, waiting in his room all cozy like as if he didn’t know Red was gonna turn up. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Hope it’s okay if I just make myself comfortable then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knock yourself out,” Sans says, like he really couldn’t care. It’s a nice act, to be sure. Sans was just as nonchalant the first time he asked if Red was down to fuck. Just straight up popping the question like he was asking if Red wanted to stay for dinner. After all, didn’t everyone wanna know if they were a good lay? The two of them were in a unique position to definitively find out the answer to that question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a good offer. A tempting one, and as much as Red wanted to take him up on it there was just one little problem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red’s universe was full of shitheads with poor boundaries and terrible sex etiquette. There was no counting the number of creepy assholes who’d tried to lay a hand on him at Grillby’s, in grimy back alleys, hell, right in the middle of goddamn Snowdin in full fucking daylight. Even the rare bastards who were given a pass into his pants tended to end up skewered if they moved wrong, went too fast or just touched something unexpectedly sensitive like the cracks in his ribs or the back of his neck. A little blood and injury was generally considered the price of getting laid in Red’s universe, which was all well and good unless you were dealing with someone like Sans who only had one HP. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sans’s poker face had been too good for Red to discern what he really thought of being rejected, but in the end he’d only shrugged and said, “Okay, but I’m horny so if you don’t wanna see me jerkin’ it you can see yourself out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It could have been easy to interpret those words as a demand to get lost, but Red had taken it to mean that if Sans touching himself was something he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see, he was welcome to stay. turns out sticking around to watch Sans fisting his cock over the waistband of his shorts was a hell of a lot more appealing than going home to his cold and crusty mattress. Listening to Sans huff and groan sweetly, desperately rutting against his own hand made it too easy for Red to pull out his own cock and join him, and even if they don’t (can’t) touch each other it’s still a pretty damn nice way of getting off. A hell of a lot better than the usual, fraught engagements Red is used to.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pile of garbage in the corner of Sans’s room is almost as good as a beanbag. Red settles himself down in his usual spot, the trash bag molding comfortably around his backside as he settles in to watch. Sans’s feigned disinterest would be a lot more convincing if he didn’t wait until Red was nicely settled before turning back to the blaster in front of him, the glow of his tongue flicking out to wet his teeth before he opens his mouth nice and wide for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The towering bulk of the blaster is already imposing, but the monstrous size of its cock is downright ridiculous. Its shape is long and tapered, more of a tentacle than a true phallus, with three prominent spines protruding from its underside that give Red’s groin a heated twinge of mixed discomfiture and dangerous intrigue. Sans’s hand can’t even fit around the base of it, but his mouth seems to stretch impossibly wide to swallow down more of its length than Red imagined would be possible. He looks downright gratified to be doing it too, his sockets half-mast and expression full of blissed-out content. He sucks cock like it’s some kind of higher calling, and the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth has Red getting hard in his shorts quicker than he can shuck them down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, you look good,” he muses, licking a thick stripe of spit across his palm. It’s not as decadently wet as he imagines Sans’s mouth would be, but he’s too impatient to wait any longer. He can already feel himself dripping to match the trickle of slick making its way down Sans’s femur. Red eyes it with interest, because even though the second Blaster is just as impressively hung as its counterpart, it isn’t actually moving. Its’ hands are resting politely on Sans’s hips, just helping to brace him, patiently waiting its turn. Curious, he asks Sans, “Can you feel that? Is it like sucking your own cock?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sans gives a thoughtful hum, easing himself back off the Blaster’s cock with a pop of released suction. When he speaks, his voice sounds rough, well-fucked and husky. “Not exactly. The intent comes across more than the sensation. Don’t think I could keep them very solid if I could feel everything they did when they fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh.” Red can imagine that. He might not have gotten as inventive with the blasters as Sans has, but he’s summoned them often enough to know how they behave. No one’s ever taken down a blaster in real combat, but in the lab Gaster forced him to  run test after test, making sure he’d be prepared for that eventuality. Red knows how it feels to take a blow through his blasters, to feel the echo of sharp intent that stings like a slap. It’s not quite like real pain -- there’s no shared nerves to drive home any HP damage -- but he can feel the space around them and a little of what they experience. They don’t have true minds of their own, but rather, a set of instincts born from the magic that summons them. Red’s blasters have only ever been aggressive, beasital weapons drawn out for battle, but Sans’s seem docile and tame. The only hint of emotion is in the way they cradle him between them, utterly careful and protective of their charge the way a Gaster of a kinder world might have intended them to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he watches, Sans gently rocks his body between them, moving back and forth between the one dominating his mouth and the other whose impressive member curves between his legs, giving his pussy something to slide against. Red unconsciously matches their tempo with his hand, admiring how delicate Sans looks sandwiched between his two heavyset blasters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure if the height and shape of their summoned bodies really says something about Sans’s preferences, or just what he’s more familiar with. Statistically speaking, most of the monsters Sans has fucked were probably non-skeletal and bigger than he is - a likely source of inspiration. Their broad, muscular shapes and shifting, roiling skin reminds Red suspiciously of Grillby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It also reminds him of something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red swallows the sudden thick lump in his throat. “Do you think </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> can feel it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The unexpected question makes Sans moan, choking a little around the thick cock in his mouth. He doesn’t bother to answer this time, but the brightening of the blush on his cheeks says he’s thought about it. They both know Gaster isn’t completely gone. Some part of him lingers on even though his body had burned up in the white-hot heat of lava at the centre of the core. Every time Red summons a blaster it’s like he can feel Gaster’s warm hand on the back of his neck and whispering approval ringing in his skull. He’s still alive, still linked to the blasters, so it stands to reason that wherever he is, he might be able to feel some measure of what Sans is doing with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Red laughs, his voice tight with feeling. “Bet he’d have something to say about your scientific method there, Sansy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Red remembers how his whole body had flushed with heat at the smile Gaster gave when he summoned the Blasters for the first time. Tempering Gaster’s magic and forcing it to obey him was an intense and intimate experience, one that left Red sweating and shaking and heated to his core. He hates having to work that hard for anything, but the moment he had wretched the magic out of his soul, the blasters unfurling into glorious, tangible existence beside him, had been worth every strenuous effort if only for the way Gaster had beamed with pride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thoughtlessly, Red tugs on that magic now, not expecting anything but the dim echo of the blasters waiting eagerly in the void, but to his surprise the response is much closer and more immediate. The blaster behind Sans gives a rippling shiver, its empty eye-sockets turning to look at Red with alien interest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>OH.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Isn’t that interesting?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, hey,” Red begins conversationally, experimentally flexing his fingers. The blaster at Sans’s back mimics the motion, its hands curling possessively over the crest of Sans’s ilium. “You remember when Gaster handed these things over to us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sans doesn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss. He comes up reluctantly for air, his chest heaving as he draws in a wet, ragged breath. His teeth are stained much darker now, inky trails oozing from his mouth. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red reaches out and asserts his will over the constructs the way Gaster taught him to. The magic bends readily towards his control with a hum of pleasure. It’s not his magic, but he knows how to make them his, just like he did back in the lab. “Turns out it’s the same steering wheel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One fierce, silent command and the Blasters move in unison, flipping Sans over to pin him down on his stained mattress. Two pairs of hands hold him with a careful but immovable grip. Sans’s sockets blow wide, not with fear but with unabashed arousal.  “Oh shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If there was any sign of hesitance, Red would back off in an instance, but all he can see is Sans’s burning face and the way his pussy is gleaming wetly in the low light. His legs spread easily to fit one blaster between them, its thick shaft now squirming atop the mound of his pubis. The second one takes hold of Sans’s skull and slowly eases it back, its cooling cock looking to find its way back into the molten heat of Sans’s mouth. There’s no hint of the passive patience of Sans’s control. Red’s command is much more assertive, filling both blasters with a fearsome hunger for the small body between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red grins, one fist flexing in the air like the hand of a puppeteer, the other curling around his cock. “Buckle up, princess. Let me and the boys show you a good time.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
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